Shades of White
by Nicor Warg-Fyrweorm
Summary: Sideswipe loves pranks, and, other than those in the receiving end, so do the rest of the Autobots. They're a break from the monotony, a chance to laugh, and no real harm done at the end of the day. ... Right?


Sunstreaker doesn't like the idea, but, once convinced _he_ won't be the recipient of the prank, he allows Sideswipe to take his rather large can of bleach.

The same bleach that reprograms color nanites to leave them a pure white color, something really useful when trying to change them into the opposite color the code of which they're already carrying, like red into green, or yellow to purple. It's easier to deal with code-less nanites than coded ones, especially when certain color codes will get rewritten by the original if they are too much against the base code.

And, of course, the red frontliner immediately empties the can in the solvent supply for the main wash racks.

Why, poor Gears and Huffer had been complaining non-stop about them having been dyed Sunstreaker's shade of bright yellow, and how hard it was to get rid of the paint despite the wash racks taking most of it away, so _this_ is just a gesture of good will from a sympathetic Autobot.

No matter that said 'sympathetic Autobot' had been the one to put the cube of paint on top of the rafter in a precarious enough position that it had 'accidentally' fallen down on top of the Minibots.

So, bleach. That will help get rid of the stubborn human-made paint.

And if it has the side-effect of turning them white as snow… _oops_.

The red mech snickers at that, walking calmly to the Rec Room after his 'good deed' of the day.

And does a double take when he sees the targets of his prank sitting calmly with Brawn and Cliffjumper, no longer yellow.

"Hey guys. I thought you said you'd go back to the wash racks after patrol to get rid of the paint?" he asks them, too curious to try to be inconspicuous and sound innocent.

Not that anyone doubts he was behind the prank, but still.

He gets a couple of deadpanned glares at that, but Gears immediately replaces his with a smug smirk.

"Sparkplug told us to visit him once we finished patrol, because he had those cans of solvent especially for car paint, and he didn't mind letting us use them. So we did. And no more yellow!" the Minibot explains happily, and Sideswipe has to concede defeat this time.

No more yellow _and_ no white. Oh, well, someone else will—

" _Sideswipe_!"

The frontliner yelps at the irate roar, as does the whole Rec Room, before whirling around.

There, on the door, is one _really_ pissed off Prowl.

Completely white, except for the pale blue optics.

Why, he didn't even know his faceplate could distort into such an angry snarl, and his doorwings, spread high and wide menacingly, are vibrating so hard with rage that they're blurring around the edges with a soft hum.

 _Sideswipe, you're_ deactivated _._

"Hey, Prowl, nice look, that shiny white suits you, really, have you thought about keeping it, 'cause it'll be useful too, white doesn't heat as badly as black, and being in a desert is way too much heat already, so it'd do you good and—"

The frontliner's babbling cuts short when he realizes the Praxian doesn't look angry anymore, but stunned instead.

And, with his doorwings now lying against his back, Sideswipe can see why.

There are two other completely white Doorwingers standing in the entrance, looking at the scene with curious sky blue optics and cold calculating ones.

Bluestreak and Prowl.

The _real_ Prowl.

Which means…

"Did you _really_ think I was Prowl?" the Praxian at the front, the previously angered one, asks in disbelief and slight amusement, a smirk growing on his faceplate, and the voice is more than enough indicator of who he is.

"Smokescreen?" Sideswipe squeaks, _literally_ squeaks, before the mech he thinks is Prowl steps forward with an indignant snort.

"Of course not. _I_ am Smokescreen," he speaks, and his voice is _identical_ to the first mech's, meaning, it _is_ the gambler's.

But, then, the third Doorwinger moves next to the other two, shaking his helm as if he was dealing with newsparks, but with an amused smile on his faceplate.

"Prowl, Bluestreak, stop that, you're scaring Sideswipe," he tells them, and his voice is _also_ Smokescreen's.

Before he has time to process what he's seeing, the other two white mechs straighten into a no-nonsense known stance, doorwings squaring at their backs and faceplates turning emotionless while their optics shine disapprovingly down at their third.

"Who are you calling Bluestreak?" one asks, and that _voice_ …

"It is evident I am Prowl," the other adds.

The third straightens, mirroring the other two, and Sideswipe can feel his legs start to tremble—

"No, _I_ am Prowl."

And three identical mechs suddenly turn to stare at the frontliner with piercing calculating icy blue optics.

"My office, _now_."

Sideswipe crashes.

* * *

Jazz is sprawled on the floor of the Repair Bay chortling softly, where he fell in his attack of laughter, while Ratchet is revising not only Sideswipe's vitals, but Gears, Cliffjumper, Huffer, Brawn, Powerglide, Sunstreaker and Red Alert's, all of them in stasis.

Optimus is sitting on one of the only clear berths, with an equally stunned Ironhide next to him and Blaster leaning against the wall by their side, a large smile on his faceplate.

Prowl, Bluestreak and Smokescreen, completely white but for their blue optics, stare at them nonplussed, curious and amused, respectively.

"I didn't know Doorwingers could modulate their voice boxes _that_ much," the Prime finally lets out, still reeling from the security recording they had to watch when they got to the Repair Bay, because there was no other way to explain the 'casualties' and the mass of stunned and flabbergasted mechs outside the doors, waiting to catch a glimpse of the white ones.

"It takes some practice," Prowl concedes with a nod, and Bluestreak snickers softly while Smokescreen gives the youngest a reproving look.

"How did _this_ happen?" Ironhide asks after he shakes the astonishment off, gesturing to the three white mechs.

"I'm guessing Sideswipe wanted to pull a prank, like the one with Gears and Huffer a while back, the one that turned them yellow? Though it was a nice yellow, so sunny and bright and like Sunstreaker's and do you think Sunstreaker got mad at that? Because it must have been really annoying for him to see other mechs with a yellow as beautiful as his, since he gets really mad at sunflowers because they're yellow too, even if sunflowers aren't really guilty of that, it isn't as if they can chose to be that yellow, and they have black seeds too, but they're gray and white when the humans roast them, and inside they're actually a brownish-gray color, and does it have a different name? 'Cause I'd like to know what that brownish-gray is called, it's a soothing color, just like pastel blue, and poppy red and—"

"Thank you, Bluestreak," Optimus quickly cuts when he realizes the monologue is no longer related to what he first asked, and because Jazz is once more writhing with loud guffaws on the floor, which is _really_ beginning to worry both the Prime and the Chief Medical Officer, if the look Ratchet gives the saboteur is any indication.

"How long until you have them back to normal, Ratch?" Blaster asks, completely amused, even at the Head of Spec Ops' antics, though there's a bit of bafflement in his optics as he looks at him.

"Do you know how long it will take to repaint them? It'll be easier to let their systems deal with it. Just give them color-coded bandanas, or something, until their color schemes start to show up again in a couple orns," the Medic answers, annoyed, as he stomps to where Jazz is hiccupping with a smile large enough to split his faceplate in two. "And you, stop laughing before you break something!"

"Two orns?" the Prime repeats, optics paling in surprise. "But that's two human weeks!"

"Cool your circuits, Ops," Jazz cuts from the floor, though he gets up an instant later with his large smile still on his faceplate. "Let the Jazzmeister teach you," he adds, and, to their confusion, he strolls to the Doorwingers and points at Prowl. "Smokescreen," he states, before gesturing to who they thought was Smokescreen, "Bluestreak," he names, and, finally, throws an arm over the Praxian who had babbled about colors a moment before, "and Prowler."

Silence.

And then, 'Bluestreak' gives the saboteur hanging off him a well-known rueful smile that is definitely _not_ Bluestreak's.

"Spoil my fun, why don't you, Jazz," he answers in _Prowl_ 's voice, and Optimus feels grateful for his facemask, because, while he's gawking like the rest, at least it doesn't show.

"What—How—" Blaster stutters, looking between the three Doorwingers, whose stances and amused smiles now resemble those of the mechs bearing the designations given by the Head of Spec Ops.

"Smokey has squared doorwings, and Prowler's chevron is sharper and not attached to his helm," the Third in Command explains with a large smile while pointing at the details, and, after a reboot of his optics, Optimus finally sees the differences.

And, with a tired sigh, covers his faceplate with a servo, feeling a growing processor-ache.

"Did you _really_ have to do that?" the Prime asks to the room at large.

"How many times can we run such a prank without fear of retribution? We _are_ the victims of Sideswipe's prank, after all," Bluestreak answers with his best innocent look, which is quite good, earning some chuckles from the rest of Autobots.

"Turnabout is fair play," Smokescreen points out as Prowl shrugs Jazz off.

"As soon as Sunstreaker is online again, I will ask him to get most of our color schemes back with human paint. He can get to recoding the nanites on doorwings and chevron a bit at a time, and by the time he's done, there should be more than enough of our color schemes back to be recognizable," the Tactician adds calmly, receiving pouts and whines from the other two Doorwingers.

"But human paints _itches_ ," the youngest protests, but while the other Autobots grimace in sympathy, Prowl is unmovable.

"Besides, the solvent from the wash-racks will wash away most of it when we clean up, so what's the point?" Smokescreen points out, and _that_ gets a dangerous smirk from the Second in Command.

"The point is that Sunstreaker will be forced to use _lesser_ paints on a daily basis, and deal with recoding all of your doorwings and most of mine, because his _dear brother_ 's prank backfired. And who do you think he'll vent his frustrations on?"

They all shiver, and the Tactician's smirk grows, pleased and eerily amused.

"You, Prowler, are _evil_ ," Jazz snickers, and, at the nod from the white mech, the rest break down laughing.

Poor Sideswipe.

* * *

 **UPDATED 22/03/2017:** Corrected grammar.

* * *

 **AN:** From the prompts **Bluestreak: Mirror** and **Jazz: Eye For Detail**.

For all of you who are reading/know about _Equals One_ , this is one of those prompts that got out of hand, especially when I ended mixing it up with another. And I am _not_ sorry ^^ Expect some more of the like in the coming days/weeks, and I hope this cheers you all up from the last batch of drabbles.

About this one-shot... well, let's just say it took me a while to tell Bluestreak and Prowl apart at first XP I'm sure something such as confusing two or three mechs wouldn't happen between Cybertronians, but let's chalk it to fiction and leave it at that, 'kay? 'Sides, it makes for funny one-shots XD


End file.
